Snowbound
by The Magpie Igraine
Summary: On Christmas Eve, Killian Jones gets a frantic phone call from his best friend. Blizzard conditions force these two adorable idiots to spend Christmas together. Captain Swan Christmas AU.
1. Chapter 1: Karaoke and a Phone Call

Chapter 1: Christmas Karaoke

This is a short-ish, fluffy Christmas story.

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" _Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock…a jingle bell shine and a jingle bell um…mine…fine…"_

" _Those aren't the words you idiot. Clean your glasses. Move over I've got this."_

" _I'm doing it. Hey, I'm singing here. GET OFF THE STAGE!"_

" _YOU GET OFF THE STAGE!"_

A shoving match broke out as a drunk Doc and a drunker Happy wrestled over the microphone.

"This Christmas karaoke is a violent sort of sport," Killian muttered from the safety of the bar. "Funny how the screaming actually makes them sound better."

" _Damn it you're ruining it."_

" _No, you're ruining it!"_

" _You spilled my drink!"_

" _It was my drink!"_

 _"No it was mine…hey, you took my drink!"_

Another round of shoving ensued, the crowd hooting and hollering as the two men shouted lyrics into the microphone.

Killian glanced at his watch. One hour. He'd been at Granny's annual Christmas party for one hour. In that time he'd heard Leroy warble out an Elvis-inspired "Blue Christmas," Ruby's titillating take on "Santa Baby" and Archie Hopper attempt "Christmastime in Hollis Queen."

As far as Kilian was concerned, he'd done his duty. He'd waved to a few of his clients, ordered a beer and now wanted nothing more than to head home and forget this night ever happened. He'd had his fill of Christmas cheer, enough to last him well into the spring.

"Christmas karaoke." Killian shook his head as he slid off his bar stool. He didn't understand it—this annual need to honor the Christ-child by drunkenly butchering "Jingle Bells" and "Last Christmas."

He was too busy fishing through his wallet for a tip to notice a very-drunk and very-merry Belle leaping towards him.

"Killian!" she cried happily as she swayed a bit. She leaned on his arm, unsteady after a few too many Jello shots and a few too many hours in impossibly high heels. He caught a shimmer of red hair as she tossed her curls over her shoulder. They matched the frilly little red dress that made her look like a tipsy Christmas elf.

"There you are! How are ya, mate? Where ya' been?"

"Ummm…here." He gestured to the bar stool. "I've been right here. For an hour. Same spot. Same beer. Nothing's changed since the last time we spoke."

"Really? Because I've been looking for you _everywhere_."

"I'm afraid to ask why."

"Beeeccaaussee…you haven't had a turn yet." Belle's soft accent tripped over the words as she slung an arm around his shoulders. "Come on Killian. You have to sing. You _have_ to."

"I don't _have_ to sing, love. In fact, I'm fairly certain the only thing I _have_ to do tonight is avoid getting caught under the mistletoe with Leroy."

"Good luck with that," she chuckled. "He gets awfully grabby after a few Appletinis."

"All the more reason to leave."

"No!" Belle gripped Killian's leather jacket and roughly shook his lapels. "You have to stay. I wanna sing with you. Pleeeeaaaaasssseeeee. Please please please. It's fun!"

"No, it's not. Christmas karaoke is by definition 'not fun.' It's actually rather stupid. More stupid than I'm used to. Even for this town. And that's saying a lot."

"It's not stupid. I mean…" she thought for a moment, "if you're _drunk_ it's not stupid. It's good clean fun. Fun for the whole family. Honestly, it's a Christmas party and you're being a grump. No, wait. Not a grump. A grinch. That's right. You're a grinch. The Grinch That Ruined Christmas Karaoke and… and… Oooohhh… look!"

Belle handed him the flipbook of songs. "They have 'Baby It's Cold Outside.' I love that song. And it's a duet. Come on. Let's do it. Let's du-et." She giggled. "Get it? _Du-et_? _Do-it_."

"Yes. Brilliant wordplay." He slapped a few dollars on the bar and saluted her. "And now I'm off."

"What!?"

He gestured to the Weather Channel playing silently on the flat screen overhead. "Winter storm warning, love. I'm leaving while I'm still sober and the roads are still clear. A storm's rolling inland and I'm not about to drive headlong into a blizzard."

"But who's going to sing with me?"

"I dunno. Try Will Scarlet. He's more than willing to _do it_ with you." He paused for effect. "I mean… _duet_. Did I say _do it_? Because I meant to say _duet_."

Belle rolled her eyes. "You're a jackass."

"Ah, so I'm told. Now behave yourself. Don't do anything I wouldn't do…et. Du-et." He gave her a peck on the cheek and grabbed his heavy peacoat from a hook nearby.

Shrugging on his coat and tucking the collar up, he waved goodbye to the few of his friends who were still sober enough to notice he was leaving. Robin clapped him on the shoulder and dropped a cigar in his front pocket while Ruby managed to shove one of Granny's fruitcakes into his chest just before he reached the door.

"Wonderful. A fragrant doorstop. Just what I needed," Killian muttered under his breath, hefting the cake under his arm and bracing himself for the cold.

A puff of smoke and a whirl of snowflakes collided in the night air as the tavern door slammed shut behind him. The shadow of colorful Christmas lights and an off-key rendition of "Feliz Navidad" followed him across the parking lot. Fleshly fallen snow crunched under his boots as he jogged towards his jeep.

He was relieved that the holiday was finally crawling towards its tedious end. By next Monday everything would be back to normal. He could start prepping his marina for the influx of new members; those eager captains who required dockage for their shiny new toys—yachts and sailboats that would invariably be stored away until springtime.

Fumbling with his keys, he collapsed in the driver's seat with a sigh.

"Christmas. Bah humbug." The words fell from Killian's lips with an edge of malice. It was a cliché, but it somehow fit. He hated the cheap sentiment and childish merry-making and the forced seasonal cheer he was expected to demonstrate to random arseholes on the street.

And an evening of terrible karaoke and lukewarm eggnog wasn't going to change that. His friends had foisted hot-cocoa and on gingerbread on him, trying to get him to play whatever holiday-themed drinking game they invented—All in the name of Christmas cheer. All in the name of festive stupidity.

Waste of time was what it was. The Christmas spirit wasn't the flu. He couldn't catch it just from standing next to the afflicted.

Sighing, Killian eyed the slightly-scary fruitcake in his hands before tossing the thing into the backseat. It landed with a steeled thud he'd expect from a crowbar or a pile of rigging. The sound of it nearly drowned out the soft hum of his cell phone as it signaled a call.

His expression softened as he glanced at the caller ID and a photo of a stunning blonde flashed across the screen—Emma Swan, his best friend since high school and an intake counselor at the Locksley Group Home. She was certainly the most important person in Killian's life, and probably the only thing that kept him from truly turning into what Belle so eloquently described as "The Grinch That Ruined Christmas Karaoke."

"Hello Lovely," he answered warmly. He couldn't help the shadow of a smile that fell across his lips. "Having a Merry Christmas?"

"Killian? Are you…Is this…Are you home?"

His fingers tightened on the phone. He could hear the brittle edge to her voice and immediately knew something was wrong. His Swan wasn't the sort of girl to call a friend in tears on Christmas Eve. Strong lovely lass she was, she'd punch anyone in the gut and laugh in their face for ever suggesting such a thing.

"Swan, what's wrong?"

"Are you home?"

"Heading that way. Why? What happened? Tell me Lovely. Is it Henry? Is he all right?" Killian tried to keep his voice steady but even the thought of something happening to her little boy made him grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"He's fine. We're fine. Um…well…we're okay. But my car isn't."

"Your car?"

"We had a…kind of…accident." Her words came out in a tumble as she quickly explained. "There was a tree down in the road and I couldn't stop in time. We're not hurt. But the car won't start and the radio said they're closing the bridge soon and I don't know if I can get a tow truck out here …"

The jeep screeched out of the parking lot before she was able to finish her sentence. The thought of Swan and her boy stranded out in this mess, with a storm bearing down like them like the wrath of God sent a chill through him.

"Where are you Lovely? Tell me where you are. I'm on my way."


	2. Chapter 2: Found

Chapter 2: Found

* * *

"Come on damn it. Come on. Come on. Stupid bloody snow."

Killian gripped the steering wheel and uttered a few choice words about the weather. Fat flakes fell from the sky, covering the windshield faster than the wipers could clear them. A blur of white followed a blur of black as the wipers fought a losing battle against the downpour. Killian's breath puffed against the glass as the icy roads knocked the jeep from side to side. He had a sudden sensation of being at sea, trying to keep himself centered as waves knocked against the bow.

The narrow strip of asphalt in front of him was quickly disappearing beneath the blur of snowflurries. At this rate there'd be three feet by midnight, and God knows how much by morning. Snow piled high on either side of the road, white and billowing as seafoam. Anything over six inches made navigating these winding highways almost impossible—they were rough enough in fair weather, but with sleet pouring down and darkness quickly falling, only the most suicidal/stalwart Storybrooke residents would risk making this kind of trek.

"Easy now," Killian murmured, stifling the urge to step on the accelerator and round the last bend. _"_ Getting close. Almost there..."A helpless feeling began welling up inside him as he pictured Swan and Henry huddled in a freezing car, buried by snow, silently waiting for him alone in the dark.

"Damn it. Come on…Come on…"

He veered off the highway and turned onto a muddy path. Swan had said some trees were down and he didn't want to risk taking the same road she did. The old trail seemed a safer bet, even as the engine's four-wheel drive roared beneath him and ice cracked sharply beneath the tires. The jeep bounced and rattled over the uneven dirt as thick pine trees crowded around him. He could hear the scratch of their needles against the sides of his door and windows.

His broad shoulders tensed the way they did whenever he was impatient. His hand itched to run through his disheveled dark hair but he didn't risk letting go of the steering wheel. His clear sea-colored eyes burned from watching the rising tide of snow and his knuckles were white from gripping the wheel. The tires whirred against the slush and he tapped the accelerator to help them along. Almost as quickly he slammed on the brake. Bright red taillights were suddenly beaming back at him, flashing a warning as he barreled past a partially buried car.

There was barely time to swear before a fallen tree appeared in his path. He jerked the steering wheel hard to the left and tapped the brakes, trying to keep from heading into a spin. The jeep slid sideways over the lane, screeching to a halt as the tires regained their grip. He tugged on the door handle and lept out into the howling wind and snow.

"Swan! Are you okay?" He shouted as soon as his feet hit the icy ground. "Swan? Come on love, are you all right?" He called over the wind, fighting against the gusts while trying to keep from slipping on the gritty ice.

The car's sunny yellow color shone brightly against the piles of white snow around it. The front tires were buried in an icy ditch, its taillights barely visible through the snow. He could just make out a bit of movement against the foggy windows.

"Swan? Open the door." He yanked on the handle, trying to open it and finding it stuck fast.

The shadow behind the window moved again. He saw Emma's thick blonde curls tumbling around her slender shoulders as she heaved herself against the door. It wouldn't budge. He glanced around at the other side of the Bug and saw the passenger side was pinned against a pine tree.

"Use the window," he called, motioning to foggy glass. "Open the window and climb out."

A creaking noise followed as the window slowly lowered. A length of blonde hair and red leather shone against the darkness.

"Here...take him." Her soft voice drifted to him and he found himself cradling the small body of a squirming toddler. "Henry, hold still. Come on kiddo, we're fine. You're fine."

The boy let out a soft cry of joy as Killian hugged the two-year-old to his chest.

"Ah, there's my first mate. Hello young sir. Quite an adventure you've had tonight. Run aground have you?"

Henry giggled and clasped him round the neck with his pudgy little arms. Killian held him tightly, breathing in the boy's clean scent of apple juice and soap. Henry's tired brown eyes and pillow creases on his cheek signaled he'd been napping and was not the least-bit shaken by car the accident or the blizzard threatening to bury them.

"I'm going to put him in the jeep, all right?"

Killian saw Emma nod and headed towards his car, trying to keep his feet from sliding out from under him while holding the wriggling toddler. At least the boy seemed warm enough, wrapped in a fluffy Ninja Turtles blanket and wearing thick red boots, although the boots were now kicking his legs and the large blanket made getting a grip on him more than difficult.

"Okay, easy there lad. You're a brave little thing, aren't you? Just don't... ow... ow... ow..." he muttered under his breath as the toddler grabbed Killian's hair and began tugging remorselessly. "Okay, that's not the best idea right now, little man. It's not really wrestling time. Come on mate, you can mash me to a pulp later."

Killian placed the child in the passenger seat and buckled him in. "Here now, you just sit there and try not to drive to Vegas. I'm going to get your mum." He ruffled Henry's hair as the boy babbled about 'Killy' and 'mama' and 'pillow' before closing the door and making his way back to the Bug.

"Is Henry all right?" Emma asked as he jogged towards her. Waves of blonde hair spilled over her shoulders as she gripped the frosted sides of the car, trying to haul herself out of the window.

"Yeah. He's fine. The jeep's warm enough." Killian took hold of her waist and leaned forward so she could wrap an arm around his neck. "Here. Please, Swan. Let me help you. Steady now. Steady. Mind the ice."

He muttered other unhelpful warnings as he clasped her to him. He blindly reached out, trying to brace them both against the car as he hauled her free of the window. Her feet touched the ground just before he lost his own footing and toppled against her, pinning her between his body and the half-buried Bug. The length of her pressed against him as her face tucked into the crook of his neck.

"Sorry," she muttered against his throat.

"Don't be." Killian felt the warmth of her breath against his skin and a sudden awareness of how close they were shot through him. He knew he should pull away, knew he should ignore the pliant, soft body pressing against his own…but he found himself only wanting to hold her closer. "Are you all right?"

"I'm okay. We're both are."

"Thank God for that."

A wave of relief washed over him as he folded her in a tight hug. He was relieved she was unharmed, safe in his arms, and if holding her like this somehow crossed the carefully-drawn boundary between friendship and… something else …well he couldn't be bloody bothered to care.

After a time, he felt Emma ease back. He followed her lead, putting as much distance as he could stand between them. He knew there were more pressing issues at hand than the length of a hug or the fact that his affection for her sometimes conflicted with his 'just friends' role in her life. But honestly, who could blame him for that? Even if she wasn't the strongest, smartest lass he'd ever met, the woman in front of him was stunning; a true beauty with her bottle-green eyes and waves of blonde hair framing her heart-shaped face. Her fair skin was as pale as the snow gathering around them and her full pink lips were creased into a frown as she shivered and rubbed her shoulders. She had the look of an angel about her. An angel in a red leather jacket and motorcycle boots no less…

"Where's your coat Swan?" he asked abruptly.

"It's in the car. I couldn't climb through the window with it on and I…"

Without thinking twice he shrugged out of his heavy peacoat and hung it around her shoulders. "Here, take this."

"Really? What about you?"

"No worries. I'm used to it." He was surprised at how easily the lie came to him. He doubt he'd ever get used to the biting winter winds that were cutting through his clothes like daggers, but it was only gentlemanly to offer a lady his coat. Especially a lady in distress, which by the looks of her half-buried hippy-mobile, certainly seemed to be the case.

The Bug was stuck fast in the snow and mud. Around it, a few pine trees lay in a crisscross pattern on the road. A large branch looked to be wedged under the front tire, which was just as well. On this steep hillside, they might've easily rolled down any number of sharp embankments. He could only imagine what would've happened if she'd lost control closer to the frozen waters of the bay, or if the car had overturned or if they skidded off the highway or …

He shook off the grim thoughts. There was no use in speculating about worst case scenarios. Swan and Henry were fine. The car looked to be a bit battered but disaster had apparently been averted. The only thing worth worrying about now was getting the two of them out of this storm.

Killian looked back at the jeep. The boy seemed happy enough, playing in the front seat, tugging on the zippered window and happily pounding on the plastic covers. Swan, however, was another story. Now that he could get a good look at her, he saw that her fair skin was a shade too white and her eyes had dark circles underneath them. Her hands were shaking at her sides, even as she tried to quickly tuck them in the pockets of his coat.

"You're hurt," he said quietly, watching her with a pained expression. "How badly?"

"I'm okay. I really am," she replied quickly. "We hit some ice and the car spun off the road. That's all. Honestly, we're fine."

He noticed that her hand went to her temple as she spoke. He could just make out the shadow of a bruise beneath her blonde hair.

"You're not fine. Let me see that." He took a step towards her but she ducked away from him, shaking her head.

"I'm okay. It's nothing. Although I wish I could say the same about my car."

"Dammit Swan," he swore under his breath, his jaw clenching as he traced her features. As much as he hated to, he let the issue drop. There was no point to arguing about it out here. "Well it certainly looks like you got yourself good and stuck."

"Nothing good about it," she muttered bitterly.

"The jeep's got a wench. But with these downed trees and all this ice, I don't think I'll get enough traction to tow you out."

"Doesn't matter anyway." She had to raise her voice over the howling wind. "Even if you dug the car out, it still won't start. And I don't suppose I could get a mechanic up here now."

"Probably not. I heard on the radio they just closed the bridge. They won't send someone out here unless it's an emergency."

"Great." She stared at the sunny-colored paint and kicked at one of the worn tires. "I guess some cars aren't built for snowstorms."

"Luckily, others are. Look…your car's safely off the road. No one's likely to hit it. And I doubt anyone's going to steal it, unless there's a market for yellow cars from hippy-Hell I don't know about." She sent him a withering glance as he winked at her. "Now we can't get to your cabin with these trees in the road, so you'll have to come home with me. We can figure out what to do about your car when the snow lets up. Alright?"

"Yeah. Thank you," she replied quietly, sounding more miserable than grateful.

"Is there anything you wanna take with you?"

"I've got some…stuff. I don't know. I guess we should take it. I don't…ugh…it's such a mess." She muttered to herself as she reached through the window, hauling out her puffy coat and a few shopping bags. Killian tried to take them, but Emma quickly snatched them back.

"I've got it," she muttered, her cheeks coloring for some reason as she held the bags away from him.

Killian sent her a questioning glance (one she pointedly ignored) as she silently strode towards the jeep. For once he didn't mind the lack of conversation. His teeth were beginning to chatter he wasn't sure how coherent he could be with his face and ears turning to ice. Emma tossed the bags into the narrow and then wrestled with Henry, managing to maneuver the boy onto her lap while keeping him wrapped snugly in the blanket.

The car started easily and the heating (usually finicky) kicked on, fogging the windshield and warming the interior nicely.

They both breathed a sigh of relief as the air became toasty and the engine idled.

"All set Lovely?"

She nodded and gave a faint smile. "Let's get out of here."

Killian couldn't help but notice how her fingers latched onto the door handle as the jeep jerked a bit before finding its grip on the icy path. Her knuckles were nearly white as she held her boy, cradling him close, burying her face in his mop of brown hair as they lurched upwards towards his cabin.

The lass was certainly shaken up by the crash, that much was obvious to him. And she was hurt. Killian could tell that even with the shroud of snow and twilight surrounding her. He frowned, wondering exactly how to broach the subject without getting her I'm-a-tough-girl-who-doesn't-get-hurt-and-I'll-drop-kick-you-to-prove-it line of defense.

"I'm glad you're both okay. An accident like that could've been a lot worse."

"Yeah. I know. You read about people every year who get stranded in these storms. Never thought I'd be one of them," she replied quietly, her pear-green eyes expressionless as the car wound its way along the overgrown path.

They sat in silence for awhile. He kept his eyes on the the icy road as she watched the rearview mirror, staring into the darkness behind them.

Clearing his throat to get her attention, he rubbed the back of his neck. He knew he had to tread lightly.

"You know Lovely, we can figure out a way to get a doctor up here if you need one."

"I'm fine."

"You keep saying that, but you're not. It's me, you know. I can tell something's hurting you. And I know Henry would want his mum to see a doctor."

"That's a low blow," she muttered, kissing the top of Henry's head. "Playing the 'mommy card' is really unfair."

"I know. But it's quite effective." His think-of-the-child argument wasn't exactly original, but he knew it would work. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm okay. I really am. I just…I hit my head on the window when the car started to spin."

He shook his head, hating the fact that she would try and hide a head injury. "That's not what I call 'okay,' love. You could have a concussion."

"It's not a concussion. It's nothing. I promise."

He glanced impatiently at her, eyeing the bruise on her temple. "We're putting ice on that as soon as we get home."

"Great more ice. Thanks mom."

"Hey, I want none of your backsass young lady."

She reached over and affectionately ruffled his hair in a completely uncalled-for manner.

"And as for you, little man…" Killian nodded to the toddler in her arms who was now noisily sucking his thumb "…I expect you to help me look after your mother. What do you say? Are you up for it?"

Henry squealed in delight at the sudden attention and immediately began trying to tug on the gearshift, because obviously one car accident that night wasn't nearly enough.


	3. Chapter 3: Dinner

Chapter 3: Dinner

Takes place almost immediately after the last chapter.

* * *

" _Baby it's cold outside…la la…something…la la about snow…dum da da…have a cigarette something…more…"_

Emma hummed as she stretched contently on the large leather sofa. Just outside the living room's wide windows, snow continued to pour over the hillsides. It covered tall pine trees and turned the brackish water of the bay into a smooth silver disk. Twilight had fallen over the landscape, dusting the forest in streaks of whites and grays. The hazy sky was alive with swirling ice and traces of moonlight.

" _La la_ … _it's cold outside_ …" Emma sang quietly as she snuggled down into the folds of a fuzzy blanket. Now wearing one of Killian's oversized sweaters, she felt suitably cozy and snug. With a mug of rooibos tea in one hand and an ice pack in the other, her nerves slowly shed the jagged-edged tension that had been eating away at her since the storm broke over Storybrooke.

A low fire crackled in the grate and a Jack Lemmon movie played silently on the flat screen above the fireplace.

It was a perfect little Christmas Eve scene.

Especially with a screaming kraken running loose on the living room floor.

"Uh-oh! Monster!" Henry cried as he charged Killian. Henry threw himself into Killian's arms and was promptly pinned to the ground. Killian tickled his sides as Henry giggled and squirmed free, running at top toddler-speeds over the wide living room rug.

Killian sat cross-legged in the middle of a mess of blocks, helping Henry stack wobbly towers (all of which met a violent end when Henry smashed through them).

"Killy!" Henry squealed as another tower came crashing down. "Monster!"

"Well done sir." Killian reached over to give Henry a high-five.

Henry stomped his feet and laughed, his eyes bright as he began spinning in place, kicking at the scattered blocks on the floor. Killian always kept a few toys on hand—his bookcase in the den now featured leather-bound first editions along with little plastic ships, a talking Elmo, and a Thomas the Train playset that Henry was obsessed with.

"Bye-bye mama!"

Emma waved as Henry ran past her in a blur.

"Oh no you don't lad!" Killian snatched him up and wrestled him to the floor, the two of them making monster noises as blocks flew everywhere.

It didn't surprise Emma that Henry was having a great time. He was crazy about Killian. And why not? Killian was always ordering toys for Henry online, or buying him colorful pop-up books, or breaking out stacks of _Sesame Street_ DVDs when they dropped by for Sunday morning pancakes...

" _And now we can add 'rescuing him from a snowstorm' to the list_ ," Emma thought, a half-smile tugging at her lips as she watched her son and her best friend play on the rug.

She heard Killian's voice as sleet tapped at the windows.

"Are you hungry Lovely? Want some dinner?"

"Sounds good." She stretched contently in her warm little bundle of blankets. "I could make us some sandwiches."

"No like that you won't." He sent her a crooked grin and climbed to his feet. "You can barely cook even without a head injury."

Emma swatted at his legs before following him into the kitchen. Hopping up on the edge of the stone countertop, she kept the blanket snug around her shoulders as her legs dangling against the bottom cabinets. It was her usual place to sit. From here she could watch Killian cook and keep an eye on Henry in the living room.

His cabin was like that—open and airy, with sage-colored walls, cherry wood floors, and wide windows that let in the slanted moonlight and an impressive view of the bay. Although she could never understand why Killian called it a "cabin." That word conjured up images of a rustic little cottage with scattered woodpiles and smoke curling out of the chimney. Something dark and primitive out of _True Grit_ or _Red River_. A small western shack or a rundown hovel. Killian's place was a modern log-and-glass lodge with bright open rooms and wide windows overlooking the forest.

"How does grilled cheese sound?"

Emma shook her head. "Sounds terrible. I'll take two."

"Grilled cheese it 'tis then. And how about some soup? It'll be nice on a night like this."

Emma nodded in agreement. He was right. Tonight, anything warm sounded good. Through the kitchen windows she spotted tree branches bent underneath the weight of fallen snow and icicles that were already starting to form on the rooftop. This was one of those legendary Maine blizzards that clawed their way inland like fabled beasts, swallowing the rocky inlets and turning the coast into an icy wasteland.

In a million years she never thought she'd be stranded in the middle of one, alone on a dark road with nothing but a stalled car and a dying cell phone…

"Drink up, love," Killian startled her out of her thoughts as he refilled her mug.

She toasted him with a sad smile. "To my first car accident."

He raised his own mug. "Here. Here."

"Guess you always remember your first."

A fluttering feeling settled in her stomach as he leaned on the counter next to her, his fingertips playing with the edge of her blanket.

"Aye love. This may have been your first, but you certainly made it count. Think about it—a snowstorm on Christmas Eve, a young child in tow… this was remarkably like one of those Hallmark movies you're so fond of."

"Yeah, I'm going to stop watching those." She patted her temple, feeling the bruise swelling beneath her skin. "They're so much more romantic on television. Nobody talks about concussions and screaming toddlers."

"Can't imagine why. Here now, let's take a look at the damage." He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and eased towards her, tilting her chin so he could get a better look.

She watched him shyly and leaned towards him. His face was only an inch or two from her own; if she shifted slightly she could feel the brush of his lips on her cheek and the rough scratch of his scruff against her skin. It was a familiar feeling—this warm wanting urge to touch him, wanting him to touch her, wondering what would happen if she let herself cross that brittle boundary between friendship and…something else…

"How does it look?" Her voice was surprisingly steady as his fingers danced over her skin.

"Looks bloody awful. Just really really ugly."

She rolled her eyes and pushed him away. "Wow. Thank you."

"But I think you'll live. Keep that pack on it for awhile. It'll help with the swelling."

"How about some rum?" she asked sweetly. "Would that help with the swelling?"

"Not for a head injury, I'm afraid."

"Darn it. I was hoping a girl could get a drink around here."

"Another time love." He went to the fridge and began rummaging for ingredients. Bread and butter, some expensive-looking cheeses, bacon, and spinach; he moved quickly, arranging everything just so before getting out a cutting board and a knife. "Tell you what, when you feel up to it, we'll leave Henry with Ruby and I'll take you out and get you properly drunk."

"Sounds like a plan. Guess you'll be the one driving. My car will probably be at Leroy's shop until spring."

"Nah. It'll be fine. Impractical thing it 'tis, the Bug does seem to be remarkably resilient. A marvel of Swiss engineering."

"It's German."

"Well that too." He began chopping up some spinach in a series of quick strokes. "Does this mean you'll come with me to Robin's party next year? An evening of karaoke is probably less painful than a concussion."

"Oh right. The party. How was it?"

"Bloody awful." He shook his head and she laughed, getting ready for one of his Christmas-who-needs-it rants. "People trying their best to ring in the New Year with a merry-old case of alcohol poisoning. Between drunkenly butchering Christmas carols and avoiding Granny's fruitcake—I'd say it was all very much in-keeping with the holiday spirit." He described the party while he prepped, chopping up tomatoes and bringing a pot of minestrone to a boil.

"Oh right…you hate Christmas." She nodded sagely and reached over, tearing off a bit of bread and dipping it into the soup. "I keep forgetting. If only you'd mention it twenty times a day so I would forever know how much you hate the songs and the trees and lights and cookies and eggnog and presents…"

"It's hardly twenty times a day," he muttered.

"I mean…really, Killian? Cookies? Who doesn't like Christmas cookies?"

"Lots of people. They're called adults, Swan. I don't need my food holiday-themed to enjoy it. And if you're so eager to partake in some of the delicious fare of the season, one of Granny's fruitcakes is right there on the table. I'll go fetch a harpoon so you can carve it."

"You don't have a harpoon."

He grinned. "How do you think I got it in the house?"

Emma chuckled as she sipped her tea, watching his easy, confident movements around the kitchen. Whenever she cooked, it was always a tug of war for attention: Henry versus whatever she'd managed to defrost. But Killian had a talent for cooking. He possessed that odd ability to prepare a meal and somehow enjoy the process. The sandwiches in the frying pan were hissing and popping, thick with smoked gouda, bacon, spinach and hothouse tomatoes. The bread was golden and crispy and pretty much perfect in every way.

"Mmmm. That looks good." She snatched a bit of cheese from the cutting board and popped it in her mouth. "Very fancy."

"Fancy? What are you talking about?"

"Well…the gouda, the tomatoes, the bacon." She shrugged. "It's definitely out of my league. A few slices of Kraft would've been fine."

"Ugh. That's blasphemy, Swan. What a terrible thing to do to a sandwich."

"You're a snob."

"No, I have standards. Believe me, it's a heavy cross to bear."

"Still a snob," she said teasingly and tossed a bit of cheese at him.

He looked down at the fleck on his sweater. "How dare you."

"Killian…no!" She tried to jump off the counter but he caught her about the waist and started tickling her sides.

"Throwing food in my kitchen…honestly Swan, what did you think was going to happen?"

She wriggled away from him, gasping with laughter, trying to still his hands as he mercilessly tickled her. "Hey…wait! I have a head injury, remember? Car accident… Much pain."

"Alright alright, good point." He held up his hands as she caught her breath. "Still, let that be a warning to you. Tread lightly. This would not have ended well for you."

"Ooooohhhh I'm really scared…NO! Killian, I was kidding. I was… just… kidding!" She spat out the words, fighting to free herself from the tangled blanket as she shrieked and tried to shove him back. "Bad form Killian!"

"Have to disagree Lovely. I'm acting purely in self-defense."

The sounds of their laughter filled the kitchen as she fought him off.

Somewhere between thrashing in his arms and stilling his grasping hands, the playful wrestling slowly turned into… something else. His fingers ran over her more tenderly, and she found herself no longer trying to shove him back. Their movements slowed and eventually stopped. As they stared at each other in silence, she realized her legs were wrapped around his waist and her hand was at the nape of his neck. Her body was flush against his, their lips nearly brushing with the blanket tangled around them both.

She felt him tighten his hold on her. His hands gripped the small of her back and a steady pulse began beating beneath her skin. Emma's eyes fluttered shut when she felt the soft warmth of his breath against her throat. She shivered as he traced her jawline with his fingertip, his lips just skimming her cheek while he breathed her in…

And suddenly it stopped.

She felt him take a step back. When she opened her eyes, he was rubbing the back of his neck in a bashful way.

Embarrassed and blushing, Emma clumsily hopped off the counter and wrapped the blanket back around her shoulders. They both gave an awkward laugh, looking everywhere but each other.

She motioned back towards the living room. "I'd better go check on Henry."

"Yeah. Good." His eyes were expressionless when he turned towards the stove. "Be off with you. Or else I'll put you to work."

"Aye aye Captain."

She padded out of the kitchen but couldn't help pausing in the doorway. She let her eyes linger the nape of his neck where the ends of his hair slightly curled and over the hard lines of his back as he chopped up some tomatoes and…honestly…what the hell just happened? And what the hell was she thinking and when the hell did cooking become sexy? Because it _was_ sexy, wasn't it?

Or maybe it was just him. Just the tall, dark, gorgeous man who was crazy about her son and would do anything for the two of them and was caring and generous and was now making dinner for them like he'd done a hundred times and…

 _Dammit get a hold of yourself Emma,_ she muttered angrily _. This is not…you can't…this isn't…ugh!_

 _Stupid dumb adorable Irishman_.

He was her friend. And here she was, sighing over him like a schoolgirl with a crush.

It was pathetic really. Just sad and honestly embarrassing how much the man affected her.

And it was 100% Killian's fault. What with his soulful blue eyes and bad-boy grin, who was somehow sweet and charming and ruggedly handsome. Very handsome. Disarmingly, panic-inducingly handsome in a here-let-me-give-you-my-coat-because-hello-I'm-a-gentleman kind of way.

"Mama mama," Henry came running at her with open arms, wrapping himself around her legs in a tight hug. The remains of another tower lay strewn at his feet. She hugged Henry back and they began gathering up the scattered blocks.

"Did you knock over your tower again kiddo?"

Henry giggled and clapped his hands.

"Alright let's build it back up."

She sat next to her son, piling up blocks and listening to Killian softly hum "Baby It's Cold Outside" in the next room.

By the time they'd built a tower and Henry smashed it to bits, her bottom lip was raw from being nervously chewed and her hands ached from being twisted and wrung.

It was a long-in-coming realization that she'd fallen in love with her best friend.

But she was starting to get used to the idea.


	4. Chapter 4: A Tree

Chapter Four: A Tree

* * *

Standing at the kitchen sink, Emma ran a soapy rag over a plate. Steam from the warm water fogged the small window, making the flutter of snowflakes just visible through the darkness. She could hear Killian picking up blocks in the living room while a fire crackled in the grate.

Dinner had been delicious (which was no surprise at all). Henry had eaten like a guppy, laughing and babbling all through his meal with fistfuls of bread in his hands and a buttery sheen on his lips.

Sad to say, but lately she and Henry had gotten into the habit of eating out of paper wrappers and carry-out containers. When she did cook, she usually ate her dinner out of a pan over the sink while Henry fed himself in his high chair, getting more food on the floor than in his mouth.

A hot meal made with more care than hurry tasted pretty damn good. And it was nice, sitting at a table instead of standing beside her tiny breakfast bar, trying to keep Henry from plastering food on the wall.

Actually it was really nice.

Killian always made it nice…

"Some view isn't it?" Killian's voice startled her out of her thoughts.

Emma jumped, dropping the plate in her hands and blinking as soapy water splashed up at her. She wiped the suds from her cheek while Killian studied her thoughtfully. He was leaning against the counter beside her; his bright blue eyes drifted over her curiously as she forced a smile and tried to act casual.

 _Yes, nicely done Emma. Why don't you just jump out of your skin whenever he asks you a simple question about the view or the weather or your car? Yes. That just screams everything-is-normal-and-I'm-not-staring-at-your-mouth-or-wondering-what-you-look-like-without-a-shirt-on._

 _Yeah. Good call._

"It is pretty," she replied quietly. "Although I like it a lot more when I'm indoors." The snow-covered hills were pristine and picturesque. Like one of those ' _having ourselves a glorious wintery Christmas in an enchanted forest, aren't we lucky?_ ' type postcards. The white snowy haze seemed to swallow the forest and snowflakes continued to glow against the darkness of the sky. The frozen bay stretched in every direction, surrounded by the hillsides bathed in moonlight.

"The snow's really coming down out there."

He picked up a dry towel and took the plate from her hands. "Aye. And there'll be more than twice that by morning. Maybe six feet."

"Wow. I guess my Bug didn't stand a chance."

"No many cars do when faced with a blizzard and a half-dozen trees blocking the road."

"You know I'll pay you back, right? For the food and the gas and whatever else…"

"Stop it Swan." He shook his head. "You know you don't have to."

Emma smiled. "Yeah. But I want you to know I appreciate it. I'm not taking this for granted—hauling us out of a storm and cooking us dinner and everything."

"You aren't the type to take anything for granted." He dried another plate and stacked it on the dish rack. "Besides, last time I checked this isn't a bed and breakfast. I'm not in the habit of charging friends I find stranded on the roadside."

She scrubbed a plate, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in her stomach as he smiled at her. "Maybe you should start. Does it happen a lot? Rescuing idiots who get themselves stuck in the snow?"

"You're not an idiot." He bumped her shoulder affectionately with his. "And it'll take more than a snowstorm to get me to leave you behind."

She swallowed hard, her throat tight for some reason. "Thanks for putting Henry to bed."

"My pleasure. A few stories and he was sound asleep."

"Sea monsters and pirates again?"

"Nothing else would do." Killian looked thoughtful for a moment. "He kept saying a word… twhree… thwee… What is that? I couldn't make it out."

"Oh, that. He's saying _tree_. Henry wants to know where your Christmas tree is. He tried to build one for you out of blocks."

"Of course he did. Sweet lad." Killian smiled.

"I hope you won't yell at him for buying into our corrupted, commercialized version of Christmas." She nudged him playfully. "You know how it is... Today he wants to build you a Christmas tree out of blocks. Tomorrow he may shave his head and make virgin sacrifices to Rudolph."

Killian cocked an eyebrow. "You're making fun of me, aren't you?"

"Absolutely." She shoved another plate in his hands as they shared a smile. It didn't surprise her that Killian didn't have a tree. He never did. There were no holiday cards propped up on the mantel, no lights or wreaths or anything to indicate Christmas was only a few hours away. She didn't know much about it, but Killian honestly didn't seem to enjoy the holiday. He shied away from most of the festive holiday events—the little Christmas pageants and shopkeeper's gallery night and the Christmas Lights Regatta the rest of the townsfolk turned out for.

"I trust you found a suitable Christmas tree yourself this year?"

Emma nodded. "Yup. And it's the saddest thing you've ever seen. Skinny and wilted with bare branches. Charlie Brown would be proud of us."

"I'm sure it's quite pitiful. You always go out of your way to find the ugliest one imaginable. Why do you always buy the worst tree on the lot?"

"Because they always look so sad. Waiting around while all the other trees find homes for Christmas, and then being tossed in a dumpster, not even fit for firewood."

"Trees don't find homes for Christmas, Swan. They're not puppies. They're dead plants that people decorate with plastic lights and throw out before New Year's Eve."

She flicked water at him. "Thanks Scrooge. But I like the ugly ones. Always have."

"Strange lass."

"Hey, you don't get to judge me." She motioned around at the tidy living room. Except for the gray sofas and a coffee table, the place was bare. "You don't even have a tree. You never have a tree."

"Why should I? Just a useless piece of shrubbery."

"It's not. It's really not. It's part of the fun of Christmas morning. Staying up late and listening for Santa. Jumping out of bed and opening presents and having a big breakfast. I mean, it matters. When you're a kid it matters. Especially when you…" she trailed off, scrubbing hard at the plate in her hand. "Nevermind."

"When you what, Lovely?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, don't be like that. Tell me."

"When you never get one," she finished, forcing a shaky smile. "Growing up, December was always the worst time of year. I was always moving to a new group home or leaving a foster family or just… forgotten. So yeah. It matters. The tree, the presents, the stupid carols and movies and cards. When you never get it, you feel it. And that hurt doesn't go away."

"Swan…" he put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

She waved him off. "I just want Henry to have that. I want it to be different for him. The holidays should be something he looks forward to. All the colorful Christmas lights and carols and the Santa hats on cashiers should be something magical and wonderful. He should get excited at the thought of Santa and reindeer and toys. Just like every other kid."

"He will. You just had a bit of bad luck this year. You can't help the snowstorm."

"No," she dunked a pan, frowning as the water sloshed, "but I _can_ help working late. And I didn't have to drive around for half an hour looking for an open gas station to buy eggs and milk so we could have French toast on Christmas morning. I just…I just wanted it to special. So he wouldn't wake up to a tiny tree and dry cereal. And yes, I know how stupid it is…"

"It's not stupid."

"Yes it is. I mean, so what? So if we have a Christmas with decorations and ornaments, suddenly life would make sense, right? Henry would have a holiday like every other kid and I'd be a decent kind of mother and all those years of being a foster kid with nothing to wake up to on Christmas morning would just be wiped away forever…and…"

She laughed as a few tears trickled down her cheeks. "…and I know how crazy this all sounds and I'll probably end up blaming my head injury tomorrow morning so if you want to quietly run away now, I'll completely understand." She wiped at the tears on her face, wishing she would just shut up, wondering why she ever felt the need to open her mouth in the first place and let all this babbling nonsense come tumbling out.

Killian didn't say anything. No witty little comment about how her head injury couldn't account for _all_ of her craziness or how he'd become inured to her particular brand of crazy over the years…

Instead he eased closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She felt his warm lips against her cheek as he pressed a kiss there, his fingertips brushing away her tears as she rested her head against the crook of his neck.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, letting herself lean against him, letting herself enjoy it.

"Don't say that Lovely. You've nothing to be sorry for."

"I'm going to blame this on the head injury. You know that, right?"

"Whatever makes you happy," he pressed another kiss to her cheek. "So it's a tree you're wanting, is it?"

She wiped her eyes. "What?"

He looked thoughtful, rubbing his chin and glancing at the basement door. "A tree. And presents. And French toast in the morning."

"What are you talking about?"

"Here now, you wait there. I think David might've left it in the basement. Leave it to me."

"Leave what to you? What are doing?"

He didn't answer. She could hear the basement door creak open and footsteps on the wooden staircase leading to his basement. Drying her hands, she went into the living room. Killian came in with an armload of dusty boxes and dropped them on the rug.

"You start on that lot. I'll get the rest."

She kicked at the pile of boxes at her feet. "What are we doing exactly?"

"Come on Swan. Clock's ticking." He was already headed back downstairs as he tossed the comment over his shoulder.

Emma wiped at the dusty package, trying to read the words scrawled in magic marker. "David Xmas... David Xmas… David Xmas…" Killian appeared beside her with a large plastic container. "Are these David's? What are you doing with them?"

He knelt on the floor next to her. "I let David keep a few things here when he moved in with Mary Margret. That was about three years ago. I think it's safe to say he's lost the privilege of free storage space. Come on. You open that one there."

"We can't take these. It's David's stuff."

"Who's taking them? He left them here. And possession is nine-tenths of the law. David's the Sheriff, he should know that. At best we're borrowing them."

"Wait, you can't open…"

A loud rip sounded echoed through the room as Killian tore off the tape and looked inside. "Ah, interesting."

Emma peered over his shoulder, now curious what a box labeled "David Xmas" might actually contain. "What is it?"

He held up a little brown styrofoam ball with googly eyes and twisted pipecleaners. "It's a Christmas cow pie."

She took the ornament from him and smiled. "No, it's a reindeer."

"Perhaps once upon a time it was...now it's festive manure."

"Oh look!" She knelt down next to him, picking through the jumble of homemade ornaments. She held up a little blue hand-bell with ' _Baby's First Christmas'_ scrawled across it. "This is so sweet. I need to get one of these for Henry."

Killian took it from her and read the engraving. "Baby's First Christmas. David Galavant Nolan." He stared at it. " _Galavant_? Dave's middle name is _Galavant_? Well, Merry Christmas to me...That will certainly come in handy in the New Year. Galavant indeed."

"What's wrong with Galavant? I like it."

"Oh so do I," he said with an evil grin. "And I'm very happy that it's David's middle name."

"Give me that." Emma set both ornaments aside gently. "What else is in there?"

"More of the same. Slightly scary crafts made out of popsicle sticks and pipe-cleaners. No doubt from David's Cub Scout days."

"Awwhh," Emma sighed as he handed her the little sled and tiny hut. A teepee and a splintered Christmas tree followed, each covered in glitter and glue. Some painted pinecones and stars woven from pine needles followed. "They're all so cute. Anything else?"

"Some candy canes from the early 1800s."

"Ick." She wiped the dust off the sticky wrappers and set them aside. "Maybe we'll just toss those."

"Some serviceable lights and a tinsel star." He held up the string of bulky colorful lights that probably hadn't been made since the 1970s and a shaggy silver star that had seen better days. Half a dozen little gold bells and some tiny red and green wreaths followed.

"What about the other box?"

"Mmmmm. Looks like a red and green tablecloth…no wait…" Killian unfolded it. "It's a tree skirt. And a tree stand. Which should work well with this." He patted the large clear container next to him. "One of those plastic Christmas trees. Very ugly if memory serves. Worthy of Charlie Brown himself. You'll love it."

"We really shouldn't…"

"Ah, Swan. We already are. Now which would you rather do…untangle the lights or start assembling the tree?"

Emma let out a sigh. She couldn't resist the idea of Henry having a Christmas tree on Christmas morning. "I guess I'll get the lights."

"Sounds good." He popped open the container and started sorting through the shaggy branches of a fake tree. "We should probably dust all this too. Don't want to upset Henry's allergies."

"Good idea." Emma couldn't help but chuckle. It was honestly an adorable sight—her dark, rugged Irishman wrestling with fake tree branches and worrying about children's allergies. She stifled the urge to reach out and touch him. Just run her fingers along the dark scruff of his chiseled jawline, wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his shoulder…

"Come on love. Let's get to work. Christmas is two hours away and it'll take me at least that long to figure out how to put this contraption together."

She couldn't stop herself from reaching over and ruffling his hair. "Thanks for doing this."

"Thank me when it's finished. It might turn out to be the ugliest Christmas tree in existence."

Emma grinned. "Sounds perfect."


	5. Chapter 5: Mistletoe

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Chapter 5: Mistletoe

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"Just put it back," Emma told herself calmly, "Right now. Put it back and pretend you never saw it."

Kneeling beside a pile of empty boxes on the floor, she watched Killian out of the corner of her eye. He was standing on a chair, wrestling with the tinsel star atop the tree. They had spent nearly two hours untangling lights, replacing bulbs, and trying to figure out how to make the fake branches fit into a stupidly complicated evergreen base.

But it was worth it.

Now a lopsided, scruffy-looking tree was propped up in the corner with homemade ornaments weighing down every limb and big clownish lights dappling the room in a dozen different colors.

It was perfect.

Or it would have been...if she weren't about to ruin everything—everything including Christmas, her friendship, and any hope that she could ever look at herself in a mirror without wanting to punch herself in the face.

"Just put it back in the box," Emma muttered. "Just... please … God… don't do what you're thinking about doing you idiot."

She nibbled her lip and ran her fingers over the little plastic plant she held in her hand. It'd been at the bottom of one of the dusty old boxes, buried beneath sticky candy canes and the splintered remains of crushed ornaments.

It was such a tiny, innocent-looking decoration. She had nearly missed it. She wished she had. At least then she could've spare herself the gut wrenching, soul twisting, self-loathing she was going though right now.

After all, it was just a just a cheap plastic plant.

Just a fake sprig of mistletoe.

"Put it back Emma. Now. Right now," she ordered herself. The little bundle of mistletoe tickled her palm as she turned it over in her hand. The bright leaves seemed to wink at her as she ran her fingers over the white felt berries.

She should throw it away. Get rid of it. Shove it into an empty box or tuck it behind a couch cushion.

But she didn't.

Dear God, she was about to do something stupid. Very stupid. Really really very stupid.

"There now. That looks better, doesn't it?" Killian asked with a grin. He hopped off the chair and gestured to the star. "Hopefully it won't fall apart on us."

Emma shoved the mistletoe into the pocket of her sweater and forced a smile. "It looks much better."

"Good. I'm a bit out of practice with this sort of thing. I just wish the tree would stop listing to the left. I think the stand is broken."

He adjusted the tree, easing it back and forth gently until it stood up straighter. It was an adorable sight—Killian wrestling with Christmas decorations. He'd spent the last hour straightening crooked ornaments and rearranging the strings of lights. Trying to make the decades-old decorations look their best.

Killian would never admit it, but Emma could tell he was enjoying himself. He seemed happier, somehow younger, smiling as if the Christmas tree in front of them was everything he could ever hope for in holiday magic.

He chose that moment to raise his arms over his head and stretch. His dark sweater clung to the hard lines of his chest and showed off a ridge of muscle along his abdomen. The tree's colorful lights dappled his skin, adding to the glow already surrounding him. She let her eyes drift over the arc of his broad back, his chiseled arms, the dark locks curling at the back of his neck that she was dying to run her fingers through...

"Dammit," Emma muttered. She tore her eyes away and shook her head. She shouldn't stare at him like that. Really really shouldn't stare.

She reached down and nervously toyed with the mistletoe in her pocket. Where it was going to stay. Forever. Because there was no way she was hanging it up. No way she was going to tease Killian until he kissed her. No way she was going to wrap her arms around him and lose herself in a kiss with the man she loved on Christmas Eve…

Nope.

It was not going to happen.

Never.

Ever.

No way.

"…Don't think I have any eggs for French toast, but I can haul out the waffle iron. What do you think, Swan?" Killian's voice interrupted her thoughts. She snatched her hand out of her pocket with a guilty look on her face.

"Sorry?"

"For breakfast. Henry won't mind will he? I know French toast is his favorite, but the lad's going to be running in circles around the tree. I don't think he'll care what he eats."

"Yeah. You're probably right." Emma's gaze drifted over the tree. "Henry's going to love this. It looks amazing. I can't believe you did this."

" _We_ did this," Killian replied. "Actually Dave's the one you should be thanking. He's the one who left this Ghost-of-Christmas-Rubbish behind." Killian stacked a few of the empty boxes and hefted them into his arms. "Still, the tree looks a bit bare though."

Emma turned and studied it. The branches wilted with the weight of heavy lights and homemade ornaments. She couldn't imagine what he meant.

"What are you talking about? There's no room for more ornaments. And we're not using those old candy canes. Just because they expired in the 1970s isn't going to stop Henry from trying to eat them."

"Underneath, I mean." He tossed the comment over his shoulder as he carried the boxes into the den. "Should be piles of presents waiting for the lad when he wakes up, shouldn't there?"

"Oh yeah," Emma said hesitantly. A pang of guilt shot through her—Henry would wake up to a Christmas tree with no presents beneath it.

She had a few things in the bags from her car. Some sweaters and socks that were on sale at the thrift store next to the group home. Emma knew it wasn't much, but the little pile of toys she'd managed to hide from Henry were at home, and there was no chance of getting them tonight.

"I have some things for him," Emma answered quietly. "Not toys, but I could wrap them..."

"Ah, no need for that," Killian said with a grin, returning to the living room with an armful of colorful toys. Block sets and Elmo DVDs and coloring books—the sort of thing only Killian Jones would have on hand. "You see, Swan? I've got it covered."

Emma shook her head and laughed. Of course he had a stack of presents for Henry hidden away in a closet. Of course he did. She couldn't imagine it of anyone else. She hurried to help him, taking a few things from his arms.

"Killian! What did you do?"

"Well, the boy should have a few gifts to sacrifice to his reindeer gods. Think he'll enjoy burning these in effigy?" He smiled at her as they knelt beside the tree.

"Shut up you idiot." She nudged him playfully with her shoulder before helping him arrange the gifts. "When did you do all this?"

"You know I love to spoil the lad. I'm just grateful for the opportunity to do so." He went on about how he happened across each present over the last month; he made it seem as if buying presents for Henry were a natural part of his day, like he didn't give a second thought about it.

Because he didn't. Killian was like that. He wanted to make Henry happy. He wanted to make her happy. That was all he ever did. That's all he'd ever done, ever since she'd returned to Storybrooke two years ago. Before that, she'd spent months alone and heartbroken, wandering through a city that had no use for her. And somehow he was still here. Teasing her and laughing with her. Filling in the missing pieces of her soul little by little, making her life brighter just by being a part of it—whether it was taking them sailing or rescuing them from a snowstorm or making breakfast on Christmas morning and…and…

" _Okay_ _stop it_." Emma told herself. " _Stop it stop it stop it stop it_." She repeated the command until the words ran together and she ended up with something along the lines of _—"damn it damn it damn it …"_

Because she was about to do something stupid. Very stupid.

"You look tired, Lovely."

She felt his hand on her shoulder but couldn't bring herself to look at him.

"No, I'm not." It was suddenly a struggle to speak above a whisper. "I'm not tired."

"Well I am. Can't imagine how you're still on your feet."

He took her hand as they climbed to their feet. A loose lock of hair fell over his forehead and her fingers itched to touch it; no, not just touch it—to tuck it back into place, to trace the handsome lines of his face and feel the play of hard muscle and golden skin beneath her fingertips as she explored every inch of him…

"You alright Swan?"

"What? Um…yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine."

He was standing close to her now, his hand toying with hers. "You're not fine. Come on. Tell me. What's wrong?" He paused, his voice full of hesitancy. "Are you in pain?"

Emma shook her head, not trusting her voice. She bit her lip as he tucked a loose blonde strand back to take a closer look at the bruise on her temple.

"Poor lass. You've had a hell of a day, haven't you?"

"No, it's been wonderful," she answered softly.

"Liar." He smiled as his fingertip drifted over her cheek. "I can't imagine a car accident and a concussion amount to much of an evening."

"No. Not that. But being here, being with you…the dinner and the tree and the presents. You make everything…so...so much better than it could ever be with anyone else. And even if it took a car accident and a blizzard, I'm glad Henry and I are with you tonight… " she trailed off, letting her stammering admission hang in the air.

A few heartbeats passed before he replied quietly: "I'm glad you're here too, sweetheart. Both of you. I always am."

She let out a sigh as she found herself wrapped in his warm embrace. His arms hugged her, supporting her as she let her head rest on his shoulder. Even through his sweater she could feel his warm skin, their breaths rising and falling together, the reassuring strength of his arms as he held her…

…And yes. She was about to do something really stupid.

She eased away.

"Um, Killian?"

"Yes Lovely?"

"There was one thing left in the boxes. I thought maybe we could hang it up. If you wanted to…" Emma reached into her pocket and pulled out the little bundle of mistletoe. She tried her best to smile casually, hating how her hand shook as she showed it to him.

"It's mistletoe," she explained lamely.

He stared at her a moment, his eyes dark and unreadable in the soft glow of the firelight. "Ah. Is that so?"

"I mean, I think it is. And I thought we could hang it up. Henry might like it. You know, getting a hug or a kiss whenever he stood under it."

"Yes, he would enjoy that. Where do you want it?"

"Um…I don't know." She gestured towards the front doorway. "Maybe there."

Killian nodded curtly, his jaw clenched, his smile gone. "Certainly. I'll get some string."

He disappeared into the kitchen for a moment and returned with a length of twine. She followed him wordlessly towards the wide entryway where a driftwood chandelier hung above the front door. Looping the twine through one of its boughs, his hands worked quickly with the practiced movements of a seasoned sailor. With a loop and a tug, he fastened a knot on the little sprig and stepped back to judge his work.

Emma stood beside him, wordlessly watching. She noticed Killian kept his eyes carefully trained away from her. A strange tension had risen between them and a heavy silence settled over the room.

She nibbled her lip nervously. Whatever she expected, it wasn't this. She'd pictured some friendly teasing or an outright refusal, something about ridiculous Victorian traditions and how he wasn't going to hang a parasitic weed in his hallway…

But she hadn't expected this. This quiet, grudging assent. This resentful silence between them. She fidgeted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do next.

Emma swallowed hard. "It looks…um…good."

He nodded, his jaw tight, his expression closed off.

"So I guess this means I have to kiss you now." She forced a strangled laugh. "Eww. Gross, right?"

He didn't answer for a moment. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for him to say something, anything.

"Yeah. Fine," he murmured. He gave a slight shrug as he stepped forward. His broad shoulders seemed to take up the entire entryway as he leaned over her.

Her eyes drifted shut as he leaned closer. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until he slowly pressed his lips against hers. It was a sweet open-mouth kiss, soft as a lapping wave and gentle as a teardrop.

A ripple of desire shivered down her spine. She stifled a sigh, afraid of moving, afraid of breathing, afraid of breaking whatever spell had fallen over them.

She felt him exhale before he took a step back. Gathering her courage, she reached out and gripped his collar, keeping him flush against her. She felt his nose bump hers, felt the long locks of his hair tickle her forehead. Glancing up, she could just make out his heavy-lidded eyes glowing in the pale moonlight of the wide windows.

"You call that a kiss, Killian?" she asked quietly, her voice calm even as her insides trembled.

Without waiting for him to respond, she hauled him back to her, her lips crashing against his in a scorching kiss. Their mouths collided roughly, their breaths mingling in a rush before the taste of him flooded her senses—sweet cider and cinnamon with something deliciously dark underneath. She kissed him hard, desperately, wanting to savor it but needing so much more, loving the feel of him, God she loved him…

Emma shoved him away suddenly, ending the kiss just as abruptly as it began. She couldn't bring herself to look at him as she gasped for breath.

Damn it, what had she done?

She was an idiot. A complete idiot. What the hell had she been thinking? Killian didn't want her. Not like this. Any second now he was going to wrap her in a tight hug and explain to her how much she meant to him, how much he cared about her and how he didn't want anything to ruin their friendship. How he would always be there for her and Henry but that he didn't love her _that_ way…

"Swan?"

"I'm sorry," Emma shook her head, her cheeks flaming and hot tears welling in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I know you don't…I just wanted…I'm so sorry Killian." She backed away blindly until she felt a strong grip on her wrist.

"Next time, give a fellow a bit of warning," he muttered, hauling her back to him before slanting his mouth over hers.

Her gasp caught in her throat as a shock of pleasure and a rush of heat nearly paralyzed her. Confusion and desire swirled wildly inside her. In moments she was lost to the languid, deep kisses that blended into each other, never pausing in their tortuous rhythm. His mouth claimed hers again and again; her hands clutched at his shoulders as she stood on her tiptoes and pressed herself to him, desperate to feel every inch of his body.

Emma arched against him, feeling like she was quietly and quickly unraveling. She craved more, needed more. Heat radiated beneath her skin as her hands roughly explored him. His own long elegant fingers… _God, where had those come from?_ raked over her. Her lips parted beneath his, his tongue sliding against hers in hot smooth strokes that made her insides ache. Her fingers tangled in the mess of his hair, gripping his long black locks as his tongue danced with hers. Her breath came in gasps, and she shivered as a sudden heat flared in her core.

Emma broke away only when her lungs screamed for air, leaving him free to leave a trail of hot, open-mouth kisses down her throat.

She was dreaming this; it had to be a dream. It was the only explanation. She was going to wake up any second and then scream into her pillow for an hour until she fell back asleep, hating life.

"Killian …wait… hold on."

"Hold onto what exactly?" he whispered softly, his hand trailing along her hip.

She bit back a groan, biting a little too hard. Okay… so it wasn't a dream.

Emma swallowed hard as she tried to find her voice. "Wait. Just wait…You know this isn't really about the mistletoe, don't you?"

He hummed softly, nuzzling her as he kissed a trail along her jawline. "What mistletoe?"

"The...um…oh," she trailed off, unsure of what she wanted to say next. It wasn't her fault her thoughts were a mess. No. The gorgeous man nibbling her throat was to blame for that.

"This is going to change things," she finally whispered, her words coming quickly and urgently. "I can't go back to the way things were before…I just can't. Pretending I don't want more, pretending I don't want you," she ran her hands over his chest, "just like this."

"Mmmmm. Do that again, Lovely," he muttered absently, chasing her lips with his own.

She eased away. "Do you understand, Killian? This is going to change things."

He paused, his lips hovering a hairsbreadth over hers. His breath tickled her as he chuckled. "I hope so. Keeping my hands off you...what a bloody bit of torture that has been."

Emma swallowed hard. She wanted to say something clever or flirty or sexy or playful.

All she managed was, "Oh, I didn't know."

Killian smiled. "That was rather the point. I hope things do change. Especially if it means I get to do this. And this…" His lips drifted across the soft skin of her throat, leaving a trail of soft open-mouthed kisses in his wake. "…and this…and this…"

"Oh. You can do that," she murmured absently, lost to the sensations coursing through her. "Whenever you want actually."

"If the lady insists," he cupped her cheek and kissed her deeply, the feel of him nearly overwhelmed her as he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly.

Behind them a clock chimed midnight, filling the hallway with the sound of soft bells ringing in the holiday.

A smile spread across his face as the echoes faded away. "Merry Christmas, Lovely."

Emma grinned as she pressed her lips to his in a sweetly slow kiss that lasted well into the new day. "Merry Christmas Killian."

* * *

The following year, Emma made sure to find the ugliest Christmas tree imaginable for their living room, and Killian hung mistletoe in every doorway.

* * *

Epilogue to follow


End file.
